


Safety's Never Been Our Thing

by Trobadora



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Handwaving Missy's Survival, Post-The Doctor Falls, Running and Chasing, Set During Series 11, Typical Doctor/Master Push-and-Pull, unexpected reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: The Doctor hadn't expected to run into a familiar face. Particularly not this one.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2020





	Safety's Never Been Our Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FanchonMoreau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanchonMoreau/gifts).



> When Thirteen met the Master again, there was no mention of Missy, the Vault, the Mondasian ship, or what all of that meant for their relationship. Why? Because they already met again post- _The Doctor Falls_.
> 
> So many thanks to C. for suggesting the title!

The Doctor saw the woman in the purple dress a moment too late: Missy's blue eyes were already cutting across the crowded market space of Qiluri station like a durasteel blade.

In the Doctor's defence, she'd been busy haggling with a twelve-year-old over the price of the kid's Ultra-Robotor Megadancer action figure. Now the toy was tucked safely under her arm, the remote in her pocket next to her sonic screwdriver - and she hadn't expected to turn away straight to the sight of a familiar face.

Particularly not this one. ( _There's your mistake, Doctor_ , she thought wryly to herself. _Always expect the Master._ At least Missy seemed to be alone.)

Missy made a stabby movement with her umbrella and none too gently pushed people aside with it, freeing space for her to walk across. Her eyes never left the Doctor.

Recognised. 

(How? Never mind. Too many possibilities to count.)

From above, through the transparent dome of the station's market hall, the planet Qilu's orange gas clouds - their brightness enhanced by the dome, of course, since it was far too distant from its star to be illuminating otherwise - cast a warm light on the crowd, the market stalls, the kids on their blankets here in the flea market section. On Missy's hair in its big, unruly updo, looking just as it had the last time the Doctor saw her.

Missy had walked away then; now she was coming closer. 

The Doctor turned away herself, briskly making her way between the flea market's sellers and their goods, past upwall hoverboards and facemorph masks, holodoll stages with hand-altered scenarios and heaps of magnetic bricks.

(No good. No avoiding this. But she needed a moment. Just a moment, yes, to gather her thoughts.)

Her shoulder blades itched with the awareness of Missy's gaze. She kept moving, stubbornly.

"Well, well." Missy grabbed her upper arm, spun her around. Glared. "What have we here? Look, it's a fleeing Doctor!"

The Doctor swallowed the reflex to refute that description, sidestepped her grip, took a step back. Missy let her. People moved around them, paying them no attention. Neither of them stood out among the mostly human-descended - and therefore mostly Time Lord-shaped - crowd.

"Sorry, don't know you," the Doctor said brightly. Swept her gaze over Missy's (familiar, so familiar) figure. "Who are you again?"

Missy's eyes narrowed. She moved to close the distance the Doctor had opened up. "You're being sillier than usual. What's the matter, Doctor? Is it that you're travelling alone?" Her eyes flickered to the action figure under the Doctor's arm. "Is that a substitute? Moving on from pets, are you? Dolls are a healthy toy, I hear."

The incipient stalemate was interrupted by a shrill wailing sound and pulsing mauve lights from a section of the upper level balcony. Missy turned towards it first, and despite the situation, the Doctor felt a small smile forming on her face: _curiosity kills the cat_. She made a grimace against the sensation behind Missy's back.

Few people in the market were reacting to the siren - too many false alarms; no one took them seriously any more.

Not that they were _really_ false, just that Qiluri's tech couldn't detect a temporal cocoon whose stray chronitons occasionally caused disruptions in the energy system's safety mechanisms.

Missy pointed her umbrella in the direction of the alarm, and the scan in her device must have been clear, because she gripped the Doctor's arm again, tightly. "So that's why you're here."

And she clearly wasn't about to step aside to let the Doctor handle this in peace. _I wish._

The Doctor shrugged her off again, not bothering to make it look casual this time. "Still don't know you," she repeated, turned, and made her way towards the row of lifts on the starboard side, ignoring the itch at her back. She knew Missy was following. She didn't have to acknowledge it.

Above, the sirens cut off - someone had shut them down, though the affected section was still illuminated in emergency mauve. The Doctor checked her sonic screwdriver: yes, ongoing chroniton emissions. She'd have to deal with this soon; they were getting stronger.

She made her way to the nearest lift. The row of them was part of the charm of Qiluri station, the tourist brochure claimed, being a historical exhibit - a range of different technologies spanning centuries, from a groaning metal cage on steel ropes through an electromagnetic one to an antigrav tube and, finally, a cabin that couldn't properly be called a lift any more since didn't actually involve movement but contained an early transmat device. The magnetic one was just ready to depart, its door closing. The Doctor squeezed in just in time.

The doors slid shut. The lift began to rise, then settled again. The doors opened. Missy slapped her hand on the frame with a smirk honed to perfect sharpness, something brittle in her expression that was likely invisible to anyone else. The Doctor ignored it.

On the upper level, the Doctor elbowed past Missy toward the balustrade and looked across to the mauve-lit section. People were moving through, unimpressed. She nodded to herself, turned around and plonked herself down on the floor, sitting cross-legged with her back against the balustrade. Then she took her sonic screwdriver to the robot toy she'd acquired.

It didn't take long. There, that was it - new software uploaded. Now she just needed to adjust the remote, make sure its signal was strong enough it wouldn't be stopped by a bulkhead or three when she sent the robot into the too-small-for-Time Lords maintenance ducts. Which was a bit more difficult, actually, since its limited range was a safety feature.

Well, the Doctor wasn't going to let that stop her. Safety hadn't ever really been her thing. And this was easier to breach than the security measures on actual maintenance bots.

A sharp impact on her biceps, jolting her out of her thoughts: Missy had whacked her umbrella against the Doctor's arm. 

The Doctor didn't look up, brushed a strand of blonde hair out of her face with the back of her hand. "Ouch," she said drily.

"What are you sitting around here for?" Missy demanded, sharp and impatient. 

What did Missy even want? She must know the Doctor wasn't going to let that temporal cocoon unravel here, with all the consequences - definite, probable and merely possible - that entailed. She'd stabilise it, then check what the hell it contained before she decided what to do with it.

Whatever Missy was doing, at least she wasn't trying to stop the Doctor. Or at least not just now. And her other self didn't seem to be near. Was there a trap involved? Was this all some elaborate plan to - to -

The Doctor shook off the thought. So what if it was? It wasn't as if she could act differently if that was the case. She still needed to get to that cocoon. Sure, she'd have to take a few more scans, in case it was booby-trapped - but she'd have done that anyway. After all, temporal cocoons had been used during the Time War to ... 

No. She wasn't going to think about that now.

And anyway, maybe Missy just wanted the Doctor to be quicker about what she was doing - maybe Missy wanted this settled, too. If there was one thing the Doctor was sure of, it was that the Master had _hated_ the Time War. He'd turned himself human to escape it. Even he, with all his disdain for humanity. 

The Doctor told her hearts to stop their hammering. She'd have hoped, yes, if this was still _before_. She had hoped, then - had been dragged, unwillingly, untrustingly, ever closer to hope during those long years guarding Missy in the Vault. The lure of being on the same side ...

But it wasn't _then_ any more. Missy had walked away - and the Doctor hadn't forgotten whose company Missy had preferred. Her worst self. The Doctor didn't look up, kept her eyes on her task. 

Another whack, on the same spot on her arm. "Don't ignore me." 

The Doctor sighed, spoke in the direction of the remote sitting on her palm. "Sorry, haven't the foggiest what you want." One more whack - and Missy wasn't being gentle. "Assault and battery. Shall I call security?"

Above her, Missy sighed. The Doctor sneaked a glance after all: Missy stood with her hands on her hips, the umbrella pressed against her side. "Must you do everything in the most childish way possible?"

"Yes." Quick, unhesitating. "Otherwise what's the fun in it?"

Missy raised her umbrella again. "I'm going to keep doing that," she promised, "if you don't stop that. Stop running, Doctor!"

 _Never._ The Doctor bit back the word, tucked sonic and remote into her coat pockets and rose to her feet. She crossed her arms and looked down her nose at Missy. It wasn't the best nose for the purpose - she'd had better - but it would have to serve. "I don't run for strangers," she said haughtily.

A snort. "You run for everyone, dear. Now, _from_ , you might have an argument there. You're much more for running towards, when it comes to strangers, aren't you? You only run from what you know."

The Doctor spread her arms. "Exactly. Not running! Not knowing." She dodged Missy's umbrella, then re-crossed her arms.

Missy scoffed. "What do you call this, then?"

The Doctor said nothing.

"Not running, just walking away, eh?" Missy's lips pursed, judgemental, her entire stance conveying disappointment. "Same difference."

And the Doctor finally snapped. _Judge me, will you? You, of all people._ Who had walked away from whom, again? "You'd know all about that."

Missy's eyes widened, then lit up with the Master's brand of sharp-edged amusement - the kind that wasn't quite cruelty, and not quite offering a shared joke, but definitely within nodding distance of both. "You're still miffed about that? Come on! I knew you'd make it - you always do. We both do."

 _Miffed._ The nerve of the woman.

"Do we?" the Doctor snapped. Left behind on a ship full of Mondasian Cybermen ... "I should be dead."

Missy shrugged, miming exaggerated nonchalance. "That makes two of us," she said brightly.

The words hit. The Doctor's breath caught in her throat for a moment. "What?"

But Missy had turned away, pointing her umbrella in the direction of the mauve-lit section. "Better do something about that, if you're going to," she said tightly, avoiding.

"What if I don't?" The Doctor's mouth said, all of its own accord, because her brain was still stuck on _what?_

"Then I guess I'll have to, _my_ way. Would you like me to, Doctor?" Missy sounded far too cheerful. But the Doctor could see how tense her shoulders were. No doubt: She wanted this dealt with. 

Whatever was going on in Missy's head - was there a chance ...? If she could have faith - if she could take the risk - 

For a moment the Doctor imagined it: throwing the remote at Missy, telling her it was all up to her now ... watching the beautiful indignation on Missy's face, and then ...

Yes. _Then._ That was the problem: there was no telling what Missy would do. Transmat out, having a laugh from elsewhere as she watched the Doctor scramble to come up with a replacement? Throw the remote back at the Doctor in refusal? Play along, only to snatch away the cocoon and use its hypothetical contents in her next scheme? Or, in an ideal world ... but no. Those wish fulfilment fantasies belonged to the Doctor's last regeneration. That was too much to ask for, had always been. 

And if Missy just tossed the remote back to the Doctor, that would be more than enough: not helping, but not hindering either. It was much less to ask for than _stand with me_ , on a ship full of Cybermen, facing death. And yet. 

Missy was still standing there, the tilt of her head half exasperation, half expectation. 

The Doctor's hearts ached. She couldn't. Could she?

She'd waited too long: Missy was coming closer now. "You!" She tapped her finger on the Doctor's nose, gripped her chin and tipped her head this way and that, examining her. The Doctor let her, trying to project blithe unconcern. Trying not to show the tension vibrating under her skin, the shiver that went through her at Missy's touch. Things she couldn't have. Things she couldn't let herself think about.

Risks she couldn't take.

(But what had Missy meant, saying she was supposed to be dead? It wasn't Missy who was going to die on that Mondasian ship. Just the Doctor. Just everyone else. As usual, when it came to the Master. - No, no point in thinking about it; mind games were par for the course.)

Missy leaned forward, peeking at her even more closely, like a hawk examining the prey in its claws. Her hand settled on the side of the Doctor's neck. "You _are_ still miffed," she said, in a tone of revelation. "Oh, Doctor. I didn't even hurt any of your little friends that time."

The Doctor ... twitched. _Not that time, no. But you did something worse: you made me hope._

Missy's gaze turned even more cutting, its sharpness honed to perfection. Her thumb brushed over the Doctor's throat. "You know you'll forgive me; why the production every time?" 

Every time, as if this were normal - as if anything that had happened during Missy's time in the Vault, and then on that Mondasian ship, had been par for the course. 

Which was exactly the problem: it hadn't been. And the Doctor had known they'd go back to the old normal again - she'd _known_ ; what else could have come after Missy walking away? But he hadn't known how to, then, and she didn't know how to, now.

The Doctor bit her lower lip, tried to ignore Missy's hand on her neck, the other now cupping on her breast, her breath only inches from the Doctor's face. A touch familiar even in a new body. How many of her bodies had been touched by the Master, how many of the Master's had she touched in turn? They'd known each other, in all the meanings of the word. Would always know each other, better than anyone.

The Doctor and the Master. The Master and the Doctor. The two of them, inextricably entwined. 

She swallowed, pulled herself together. With an exasperated huff, she closed the distance between them, grabbed Missy's face between both hands, and kissed her, hard and desperate.

Painful as it had been to hope, hard-won as that hope had been - no matter how long it had taken the Doctor to finally allow himself that hope, after decades spent with Missy in that Vault - its absence hurt just as much. But what was between them had never depended on hope. The Doctor grasped for an old comfort, old guilt mixed with familiar relief, her fingers burrowing in Missy's hair. Missy shuddered, and the Doctor sucked Missy's lower lip between hers, scraped her teeth over it.

Missy made a desperate sound, then abruptly pushed forward, catching up. A moment later she had the Doctor crowded against the railing, stealing every breath from her lungs, forcing her to rely on her respiratory bypass. Her breasts pressed against the Doctor's - oh, nice, that was new - and her knee pushed between the Doctor's legs.

Yes. Good.

She needed to regain her equilibrium - no, _they_ needed to regain their equilibrium. Everything they'd always been to each other, without hope or expectation, despite what stood between them and what drove them apart.

Feeling Missy's hands on her made it easier to find that space again: they'd barely done this in the Vault, things too unsettled between them, too much at stake. This, though - this was familiar, as easy as anything ever was between them.

Falling into the push-and pull between them that had always existed, whether they were friends or enemies or both - it was good. It was still good.

They parted, both breathing heavily despite their respiratory bypass. The Doctor stared at Missy, whose blue eyes weren't steel now - water, no less deadly at times but not made for violence. Something unspeakable seemed to be strung between them, connecting them directly, hearts to hearts.

Without hope for more, there was still this.

Missy swallowed, then took a step back. "Temporal cocoon," she reminded her.

The Doctor took a breath, wrangled herself under control. Offered Missy a grin. "Yep. Doing this now." She bent to pick up the toy figure, pulled the remote from her pocket and turned towards the mauve section. A few steps took her past Missy; then she to look over the shoulder. "You coming?"

Missy smirked. "Later." And she leaned against the railing where the Doctor had stood earlier, as if she had not a care in the world.

The Doctor snorted. And - all right, Missy was letting the Doctor save the day. Not getting in the way. Good enough. 

She swept her eyes over Missy's body. "Don't go anywhere," the Doctor breathed.

"I'm a patient woman," Missy said, nonchalantly. But she looked just a little flushed.

"No, you're not." The Doctor's mouth was working on autopilot while her brain was contemplating _later_.

"More patient than you."

The Doctor huffed. "A penchant for the long con isn't the same as patience, Missy. I know you."

"Maybe you do." It wasn't a concession. If there was one thing that had never been in doubt between them, it was that they knew each other. Intimately, flesh and skin and beneath the skin, mind and soul. Pretending otherwise was futile.

Even if, sometimes, it was easier to live with.

"All right, got the day to save, you know how it goes. Be right back!"

And then the Doctor was on her way. She had a plan to execute, a station to save, a cocoon to secure - and then ...

_I know you. And I'll live with who you are. It's not like I have a choice._

Not that she would choose otherwise if she could. A universe without the Master might be a better and kinder one, for many, but the Doctor didn't want to contemplate it. She refused.

"Hurry up," Missy called from behind her. 

The Doctor grinned. Yep. She would.


End file.
